


cut the vines and i shall bleed

by wrapupmybones



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Style, M/M, Magic, Mentioned Martin Blackwood's Mother, Mentions of Death, Monster - Freeform, Moth Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not Beta Read, Plant Symbolism, Prince Blackwood, This magically became not a one shot, Witch Curses, no beta reader we kayak like tim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27458044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrapupmybones/pseuds/wrapupmybones
Summary: Once upon a time there was a prince
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	cut the vines and i shall bleed

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey, hope things are going well for you. there isn't much to say before this one, but cw there is body modification, blood and gore, and parents cursing their children to become monsters. so please read with that in mind and don't force yourself to read anything you can't ill be here if you ever want to return, and if you don't thats okay. i think that is everything so enjoy. :))

Once upon a time there was a king, a king who married a women. A king who left his queen and his tiny new born son, the prince, to rot. This prince sat upon a tarnished golden throne made for someone larger. He was stuck in one place, unable to move, the vines had grown too high and there was not a single person left to keep them at bay. It was the talk of the kingdom for as long as they could remember him. He faded from the dreams and nightmares' and thoughts of his subjects like a fire fizzling out in the rain.

It didn't take long for him to understand what was happening to him, the day his bones grew into thorns. Was it his teeth that changed first or his ribs? Either way that is a memory not even the gods could take away from our prince, the night he tried to screamed his throat out. The sharp protruding objects did not cut through his skin, but plunged through each one of his organs. So the blood only had once place to go; he gurgled it for hours, the blood spilt over like wine from an over filled glass. One should think he might've choke, but that would've been too easy. The prince drowned in his own blood for days until the sun granted him enough heat to take it away. "He is as delicate as a rose." his mother use to say with malice in her heart. Oh how he could cry buckets and buckets of sap at the memory. The prince remembers it quite vividly in fact, it didn't matter that his happy memories had all but flitted away just as the moth had. There was barley a flicker of warm remembrance for him to drink from. 

It was a wonderful day when the moth had finally spoken to him. His feet had turned to trees and his toes into roots the exact same day as when they had first said hi. Their wings spoke of a soft undercurrent of power. Those wonderful eyes that were sown in by mother nature must have hurt the poor thing, the prince hopes they didn't bleed that day. However, he knows that is not possible. Although, if such beauty hurts shouldn't he be in such a delightful haze of peacefulness. 

Days before the moth spoke were much harder for the prince, he reckons that the moth had given him a bookmark in his head; a single dahlia amongst a field filled to the brim with dying gladiolus and infectious flowering dogwood trees. The white petals coughed on with purple blood by his highness. 

The moth, as it was, had a name. One the prince learned somehow, he was unsure of how as he no longer spoke in common tongue. If you must know it was swiftly covered in nightshade juice, leaving him numb to all words and not to mention his ears had long been filled with moss. Nevertheless this moth sauntered through the corrupted cobblestone that the prince called home, for the first time one summer evening. The light had just began to drift behind the mountains that laid beyond the broken castle. The moth moved with no strings attached and the prince wondered what it felt like to drift on the wind, they were bewitching even when bumping against the walls. The prince was barely able to move his head to greet the poor thing, like he once did with his esteemed guest. But even if he could move an inch it would tear his bark lined neck to shreds. So the prince did not turn his head or even try, he sighed, a lonely fog filled sigh. After the sun had chased away the haunted night, the moth was gone. 

This was by no means the last time the prince saw the moth, but days and nights and whatever seeps in-between had escaped from him. A soft snow now covered the ground as his ivy leaves slowly started to shrivel, but never die. That would be too much of a relief. He becomes frost bitten while the winter settled in, whatever of his skin that was left uncovered by the plants faded to ice. He continued to sit on his throne for a few more months, frozen and still alone. 

As time would have it he melted, the sun rays played across his skin so close he could feel the warmth. The vines had grown since he last saw them, he could feel them constrict across his hands and constrict within his stomach like a snake resting in the sun. With the spring air in his dead honeycomb lungs his bark rimmed neck had soften just enough for him to look around moss filled throne room.

He couldn't help the croak of surprise, his eyes landing on a moth. The moth. They looked up at him, their feathery antennae twitched. The prince was unable to make out the expression on their face, he only croaked again. Wishing more then anything to just remember how to speak. The prince wanted those piercing green eyes to burn his leaves to embers. A dark baritone sound came from the soft being as it shuffled slowly forward. Our poor lonely prince with sage in his blood turned his head back to the broken window and closed his eyes to sleep much much longer, dreaming of nothing but a softer green then the plants that have grown through him. 

**Author's Note:**

> wow it's been too long since i've last written something and a first for tma. i honestly wasn't gonna make this multiple chapters but i needed the break cos i dont know what pacing is, apparently, lol. but, this story originally wasn't jon and martins (it was about lesbians ;)) but i think it fits just as well. thank you for reading and any love you might give it, it really means a lot. have a great day. bye.


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